Eternal Damnation?
by Call-me-Cassandra
Summary: This is my spin on how Edward views the state of his soul and other such things. Will be a series of one shots from various TwilightNew Moon moments. First one is in the preBella days. Chapter two is up and it is when he thinks Bella is dead.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Ok, this is my first fanfiction, so just let me know what you think. I wanted to do this as a series of one shots, probably three, about how Edward's view of salvation changes. This one is before he meets Bella. For now, the plan is to do one after he thinks Bella is dead and one after he finds out that she is alive. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Sadly enough, I don't own Edward. I just put thoughts in his head, which belongs to Stephanie Meyer.

I have always tried to avoid thoughts of my own salvation, or lack thereof. They are too painful. For many years now, I have believed that I was damned. I am a monster, after all. Monsters don't deserve mercy or forgiveness or grace. Monsters deserve death and pain; monsters deserve Hell. I still remember what Hell feels like. It has been nearly a hundred years, but those three days are still burned into my memory. The agony, the blinding pain that left me writhing like a worm and praying to be released from the ceaseless torment. That is where I belong, of that I have always been certain. How could I deserve anything else? I can still see the faces of each of my victims, still hear their pleas for mercy and feel the horror in their minds when they realized that this was the end. They were monsters too, but who was I to judge? In their eyes, I could see myself. When I sent them to Hell, I knew that I would one day join them.

Sometimes, I stand in the hallway at night, when everyone else is occupied, and study Carlisle's old wooden cross. It speaks a message of hope and grace, but not for me. Never for me. It is then that I envy the humans. Faulted, fragile creatures, secure in their ignorance and blind in their faith. It was to them that God appeared, them that He forgave--that he saved. Them he loved. The humans had only to reach out a hand, to speak a word, and they were granted salvation, a guarantee that they were loved and would one day experience the ecstasy of Heaven. It was shocking to me that so few of them accepted this priceless gift. I yearned for it, hungered for the knowledge that I could be redeemed. That I could be forgiven for my many sins. I had long ago given up on ever attaining it.

Carlisle still clings to his faith. It is one of the things that I admire most about him. In the hundreds of years that have passed since he stood before a pulpit and preached the word of God, he has never stopped believing in those Words. His compassion and his self control are testaments to the life that he chose to live, a life devoted to a God who may or may not choose to repay him for it in the end. This is the life he taught us, the life that we have all chosen to lead. It is a life of maybe. Maybe if we believe enough, if we try hard enough, if we resist long enough, He will love us too. It is a dangerous game, one that at times has the potential to send us into the blackest despair, the kind reserved for those who know that hope has left them and will never again return. Sometimes, it is easier not to hope. I don't hope much anymore.

Hope, faith, and love. The three key holy virtues. What do I know of those? They are reserved for higher beings than I. Faith is futile, hope is hopeless, and love…is a mystery. I love my family, but that is not the love that I mean. I have never known the kind of love that sparks between Rosalie and Emmett, the kind that brings such peace to Carlisle every time he looks at Esme, the kind that gives Jasper the strength to resist temptation just because Alice wants him to. No, I look at the bond that draws the couples in my family to each other and know that I have never known that, and that I never will. I don't deserve it.


	2. Chapter 2

_I'm not a hundred percent happy with this chapter, but I am trying to put off writing some papers so here you go. Let me know what needs fixed._

_Disclaimer: I don't own either of Meyer's amazing books, or Edward, or the italisized parts of my story, as much as I may dream._

_Love, live, meaning, lost_.

This is what hope does to you. I had thought that I knew better, that I had learned to squash even the first signs of hope as they dared to warm my heart, but that was before her. When she came into my life, I forgot that I was supposed to be damned. I forgot everything, except for what she made me feel when she looked at me that way. She should have been terrified, have been revolted by the monster that I was and run screaming from my life. She knew all of my darkest secrets, she knew of my lust for blood and that I had killed for it. She knew that I was damned, that I was dead. And it hadn't mattered. She had looked at me with trust in her eyes, with love in her eyes. More love that I could ever have imagined that anyone could feel for one such as myself.

And for that, I let myself hope. I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't a damned soul after all. The damned cannot know happiness or joy. They cannot know love. Especially not the love of an angel. The love that I feel for her makes me feel purified and redeemed, like with one kiss from her innocent lips, she could erase the darkness and taint that had engulfed my soul and make me holy once more. When I held her in my arms and watched her sleep, I thought that the overwhelming love that surged inside of me would be enough to save me. The warmth that spread through me when she smiled at me was enough to make me sure that I was glimpsing heaven.

And then it was over. I could feel myself slowly beginning to weaken and knew that before long, that angel would fall. And that was something that I could never allow to happen. To see her cold and lifeless, to see her throw her life away and give up her chance at salvation, for me, to see that look of despair in her eyes as she embraced damnation, eternal damnation for which there was no cure. I would not allow it. And so I left. I ripped the angel's heart out even as I shattered my own. I made her believe that she wasn't meant for me, that she wasn't enough. I felt like a monster in that moment, like a hideous beast spewing lies and malice. Lies that she believed, lies that broke us both. I ran, clinging to the fact that it was for her that I ran. Even if she didn't see it, I loved her too much to put her at risk. I gave her life, not the death that she wanted. I clung to that, the life that she was living without me. It was the only thing that kept me sane, the only lifeline in the storm of pain that threatened to engulf me. Her life, the penance for my many sins.

Now even that much is gone. "_At the funeral"_ repeated like a mantra in my mind of the boy's words. How could she be dead when I gave her life? How could that warmth and beauty and love be gone? Why? The pain was crippling, devastating. So much worse than even that pain of Hell that I had tasted during my transformation. Hell. This was Hell. To be given an angel, a miracle, and then having to watch as it was ripped from your fingers. To know that it was your fault that such perfection was destroyed. Perhaps that was the reason that she had come into my life. Not sent from God as a symbol of hope, as I had wished. But a symbol of what I could never have. I was allowed a brief glimpse of what I could have had, of what I wanted so desperately but did not deserve. That brief glimpse was enough to ensure my complete and total ruin when it was ripped away. To make the flames of Hell that much worse. Sobbing, I knew in my heart that this was the end. If I was doomed to suffer Hell, then I would indeed go and suffer it. It couldn't be worse than the pain that I felt now, the pain that I had inflicted upon myself. They say that the dead forget. I shall go and beg for that release, that lack of sentience to numb my pain. I will go to Hell.


End file.
